Prodigal Sons
by lost frequencies
Summary: One fights to take her soul away while the other fights to protect it. Still Gotham loves them both equitably. A humble homage to 0anon's Untitled piece.
1. We Are Destined

**Prodigal Sons**  
_A homage to 0anon's Untitled piece._

100-word drabbles.

**xXx**

* * *

We are _destined_. Like all good sons, we'll try to do her _justice_. — Untitled, by 0anon.

* * *

_So you're playing around this like it's convenient._

A son of many talents, he does what he can to make this an enjoyable performance for me. And with every performance I give something meaningful in return. I inspire him, give him many stories to choose from. I take his breath away and give it back. I give him many lives, many faces, many scars. I give too much until he breaks. He even pleads for me to stop. Until he learns that I will never. Then I give him the most beautiful smile that he turns into his greatest weapon. See how he never fails to please me!

_You do it so often that you start to believe it._

What pains you so only makes your heart tickle. The fist that breaks your jaw, shatters your teeth makes you burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The room spins and they lose balance. Don't they know how grounded you are in this whirling heat of vulnerability? They won't know what pain is until they can't feel it anymore. The pain inside you is what keeps you alive. If he sees what you want then there will be no reason to do this. All you want is him and him alone. Your natural high. The enemy you call a friend.

_You have demons so nobody can blame you. _

You never wanted to be responsible for taking your own life. What you lack in strength you make up with that ruthless, rebellious wreckage of a mind. I've kept you battered, abused, tormented to pieces. Still you prevail. Look how strong I've made you. Dent's holding a gun to your head. You're pressing it harder and _harder_ against your skull. You wanted so much to taste death even when you know I won't let you. Why won't you listen? One by one you take them all away. As for you my son—you'll always be the one I leave behind.

_But who is the master and who is the slave?_

I belong to you—especially when I'm feeling generous to let you have your way. I know how hard you've been working but your work is done for now. I'm sorry. I'll let you rest in your padded prison. So hush now, broken spirit. I hear your laughing and I can see those tears. You're missing your friend, aren't you? I know. I always know. Here comes your next challenge: _restraint_. Here comes my next blow: _silence_. I belong to you—only when I'm feeling generous to let you have your way. But tonight is not the night, my son.


	2. Her Little Twists

**Prodigal Sons**  
_A homage to 0anon's Untitled piece._

100-word drabbles.

**xXx**

* * *

I find that when _Gotham_ adds _her_ little _twists_ to the plot, she _never_ fails to make things _better_. _Much_ better than anything _I_ could ever _dream_ of. — Untitled, by 0anon.

* * *

_I'll be the garden, you'll be the snake. _

The Batman. He never confides in me like you do. I bear your sorrows while he keeps himself away from me. He never looks up in the rain or appreciates the glimmer of hope, the forgiveness, the repentance he seeks. So distant. So unappreciative. A cold shadow in this inferno you've created. He dwells deep in darkness, never to rise until you force him out. You let him see that even when it's dark, you can light it up with gunpowder and gasoline. He sees me clearly when I burn. And that's when he realises that I am worth saving.

_All of my fruit is yours to take._

I am enchantment. And will always be. I am the perfection you try to hide. I am the blood you wash the streets with, the innocence you stole, the heaven you corrupt. I am your masterpiece. Today I am not your mother. I am the canvas of your desire. I am on your side. I am in the mood. Marry me. Make love to me. Possess me. Most importantly—serve me. Serve. _Me_. And tomorrow, we part. Like soulless lovers. Disown me like how you've disowned yourself. Forget me and I shall forget you. We won't recognise each other anymore.

_Better the devil that you know._

Once, I had only servants: idealists and visionaries. I adored them all. Then I grew tired of their predictability. I craved for something more. So I traded my immortality for suffering, for chaos, for love. I became—your teacher. I nurtured you to be so much more! You've always been a fast learner but you are not the only one who understands me. No. There are many of _my_ children you have not met. Many of them you will hate, and—yes, even love. I shall summon them all when the timing feels _right_. So be good. And be patient.

_Your love for me will grow._

Why won't you trust me? Is it because I've taken away what's precious to you? Haven't I given it all back? Restored your faith and redeemed you? If there's one thing I cannot do is to bring her back. I thought you'd be stronger since they left you. Your father was a great man and I see you in him. All's not lost, Bruce. All you need is me. As much as you hate to admit it, you need your friend too. But your secret is safe with me. So come back. Trust me. Forgive me. Like your father did.


	3. Playing The Same Game

**Prodigal Sons**  
_A homage to 0anon's Untitled piece._

100-word drabbles.

**xXx**

* * *

Ever watched two people playing the same game? — Untitled, by 0anon.

* * *

_Whether they were good or bad..._

He is: angry, sheltered, confused, guilt-ridden, lost.  
He is: unfortunate, immaculate, refined, intelligent...

Mad.

He is: deafening silence, brooding, cape and cowl, stealth and honour.  
He is: simplicity, charm, guns and knives, warpaint and howling laughter.

They are.

(cracked mirrors my servants look into each day)

Oh, Unnamed One:

I've chosen you to bear my scars.

Let him be your reason to fight for me.

See how these broken pieces come together?

Oh, Compassionate One:

Never lose sight of him while he plunges into the abyss.

He flies while you see him fall.

See how these broken pieces come together?

_Is strictly up to you._


	4. Caged

**Prodigal Sons**  
_A homage to 0anon's Untitled piece._

100-word drabbles.

**xXx**

* * *

Maybe _Gotham's_ the rat and _we're_ her _cage_. — Untitled, by 0anon.

* * *

_Is there something you need from me?_

Lost as you were, shrouded in the shadow of my most ardent enemy, you heard my call from a thousand miles away; over the glaciers and snow-covered mountains, past the empty villages and forgotten solitude. Remember what Ra's Al Ghul said to you: that I must not be saved. You took the poison flower and felt the fear I harboured for centuries. It was you who ruled over his ideals. It was you who shielded me from his lust for vengeance. Unlike him, you are no misguided idealist. You are the saviour of us all. And he—believed in you.

_Are you having your fun?_

Then there is your friend whose love and hatred for me have turned into an unstoppable obsession. There are things you don't understand and he is nothing you will ever understand. He is the son that I fear—my own reflection staring back at me. Don't you see how my pain affects only the strongest of souls? The strongest of souls are the ones with poison in their veins. It remains longer than I ever will. A body made of concrete, steel, rules and systems. I will be nothing without you. A remnant of a dream. His most prized possession.

_I never agreed to be—_

He always says that I am the one to blame. I am the one to thank for. I am the one to own. One is the definition of who we are. But your friend is indivisible. Undefined, untamed. A monster I created from our fears combined; a reflection upon reflection upon reflection. My suicide. I am the pawn held captive in his House of Mirrors. His agenda changes with the tide. He weighs the odds, watches and waits until everything falls into place. He knows the time. He knows the game. He knows the math. And he does it—beautifully.

___Your Holy One._

Lost as you are, shrouded in the shadow of your most ardent enemy, you hear my call from the depths of your conscience; over the explosions and chaos, past the burning tunnels and crumbled buildings. Remember what The Joker said to you: that my servants must not be saved. You took his poison and felt the anger you harboured for decades. It is him who's shown you what it means to be a hero. It is him who becomes your teacher. Unlike me, you are no misguided idealist. You are the saviour of us all. And we—believe in you.

* * *

A/N: Italicised lines from the song Barrel Of A Gun, by Depeche Mode. Special thanks to 0anon for the much needed inspiration.


	5. Epilogue: The Punch Line

**xXx**

I have a plan.

_He wants to be my only son._

You don't know it, but I have a plan.

_A son of many talents; of many stories._

Tell you?

_None of which he cares to remember._

Oh _no_. No no, that would ruin all the _fun_. It's a secret. A surprise.

_An inspiration._

A game!

_You are given options with no option. _

Come out to play, come out to play!

_I am the Host and the Stage._

Introduce a little _anarchy_ into your life.

_(His ultimate Hostage)_

I have a plan. You're going to play.

_If my servants haven't made you the Protector-_

I _insist_.

_Who will be incorruptible __enough to go against the Monster and I?_

The rules?

_He tricks us all into playing the same game._

No. You're thinking like _them_. _They_ like rules.

_So I turn the rules against myself._

The game is _timing_. The timing rules everything, and when I play my little joke, you'll know how to play along. No rules.

_He becomes the Hypocrite. __Not the Comedian. __Not the Punch Line._

You'll _know_.

_He becomes the one I leave behind__—_to l_augh at himself._

And that's the point.

_._

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_._

_._

(But)

Why so _serious_?

* * *

_A/N: I cannot thank 0anon enough for writing such an awesome fic. Found myself at a loss for words and wanted to do more than just write a review. I feel it deserves more than that. So I hope this little tribute shows..._

_Salute._

_Note: Italicised lines scattered throughout this fic are taken from lyrics of the following songs: Voices, and Like It Or Not by Madonna and Barrel of a Gun, by Depeche Mode._


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